Joy Garden

The space, the time, the resources are all privileges, tools we have used to make the garden grow. The work has kept us sane, kept us looking forward to something. We built the beds in early April, just into quarantine. I remember standing in line outside Home Depot in Bed-Stuy as one of the first times we really saw other people, all of us spaced out in the parking lot. Being in the store felt scary, like a tactical mission, but we got the wood, some soil, some seeds. I started planting tomatoes indoors soon after. It really felt like nothing would happen. We had no choice but to wait anyway, and as we did, we picked up some seedlings along the way: hot peppers, lemon verbena, and that bright red plant is called “Chaos.” We also put some spinach straight into the beds, wild flowers besides. Then the tomatoes started coming up, and we started to plant them, some cucumbers, and after some hot days and some rain, the zucchini suddenly just took over. We’ve pulled weeds, laid mulch, tried little ornaments to scare the birds. Now the whole network of it is starting to blossom and fruit. 

Through all this, I continue to read and write, to think about identity, to listen about race, to engage in and begin to practice the power of intersectionality. For now I have two very high recommendations: Ross Gay’s (a gardener himself) Book of Delights is a testament to engaging with wonder and care and One Egbuonu’s debut documentary, (In)Visible Portraits is a gorgeous and moving framing of Black womanhood in the US. I am certain that exercising our creativity will sustain us as we elucidate the difficult and fruitful paradoxes of this life

With the garden we’re biding our time, waiting to decide when to go in for a taste, what to cut back and tie up, relying both on advice and on our own intuition. I’m trying again with the basil and hoping for more flowers, talking to them when I remember to, softly, softly. Not a victory garden, a sanity garden, a patience garden, a joy garden.